Moving On
by Mistress Ashley
Summary: TtH FFA response for Buffy/Munch - non-romance.


**Disclaimer:** Buffy and Law & Order: SVU do not belong to me. I own nothing but the time put into writing this.

**AN:** I've got Christmas gifts done but there's some last minute shopping that needs to be done with my mom tomorrow morning as well as cookies to be decorated tomorrow afternoon. I feel like I haven't written anything in forever. I had to force this out piece by piece but I did it. Here's my Christmas present to you, my loyal readers - sorry it's so short. Happy (insert whatever holiday you celebrate)!!

I wouldn't say this is bashing - I don't fixate enough on any one character besides Buffy for it to be considered bashing but if you're very picky and don't like _anything_ bad to be said or insinuated about the Scoobs or Joyce then either don't read or don't flame me you read it and it upsets you.

On a side note - I almost went with Captain John Hart (Torchwood) but couldn't go through with it at the last second.

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Buffy sat in the chair that had been her mother's favorite - soft and squishy and likely to swallow you whole, her feet tucked beneath her and hands wrapped around a steaming mug. The house was empty. The Scoob's had got on with their lives after bringing her back - Giles had gone back to England, Willow and Tara had moved back to the campus dorms to finish their schooling, Xander and Anya had moved to a better, more stable home - not married yet but slowly moving that way. Even Dawn had stopped sleeping at the house, spending nights at any friend who would take her just so she didn't have to stay at home with a sister who was more likely to stare blankly at the wall than make polite conversation.

Staring blankly at the wall was just what Buffy was doing though her mind was flicking through thoughts and memories almost faster than she could comprehend them. Buffy thought back to Glory, The Key, her mom.

She remembered having to clean out her mother's things. She'd gone through them so very carefully, afraid to touch anything in the fear that it might crumble to dust in her hands or break beyond repair. She'd touched each piece reverently before she'd packed it away. It was then that she'd found the box, hidden behind a panel in her mother's closet. Buffy remembered how she'd crawled into the closet, surrounded herself with her mother's scent still on the close and raged at the world. She didn't know how or what she'd bumped but the panel had popped open. She'd thought it was her mother's expensive jewelery at first given the box looked vaguely like a jewelery box but when she'd flicked the clasp and opened it all that had been inside were papers - official looking papers.

She'd gently smoothed out the first paper - her mother's marriage license to Hank quickly followed by adoption papers. Hank Summers wasn't her father. She'd tossed papers aside quickly and dug deeper. Another marriage license, divorce papers and her birth certificate along with test results from a small clinic in LA buried at the bottom as though hidden, whether in shame or some other emotion Buffy couldn't guess. Joyce Summers married and then divorced. The clinic papers let her know that her mother had found she was pregnant only shortly after signing the divorce papers. Joyce had married Hank Summers soon after. Hank Summers had adopted her a short time after she was born - enough time for her birth father's name to be placed on the original birth certificate, explaining why there were two.

John Munch - her father. She wondered briefly if he knew about her but guessed not - Buffy knew her mother too well. Joyce would have forgotten that life, buried the evidence and after so long she would have started to believe her own lie.

Maybe it was time for her to move on, get out of Sunnydale and put the bad memories behind her. A spark ignited deep within her shining out of once dull eyes. Buffy decided she could use a fresh start.

John Munch had been an officer when married to her mother. There was sure to be an easy to follow paper trail.

END

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This is finished ... at least by my hand (I think). If you'd like to continue writing this - the meet & greet, yada, yada, yada feel free. Just let me know you're adopting it so I can point the readers in your direction.


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